


Fitting Room Two

by Fire_Bear



Series: Tumblr Requests [13]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: First Meetings, Kingsman AU, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9124879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: Matthew - the Merlin of the Kingsman organisation - is still dubious about the workman he's hired to deliver the decorating items to the shop. But, for all his research, he didn't realise that Gilbert Beilschmidt was so attractive...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliesiar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliesiar/gifts).



> Right: Gilbert in this story has grown up mostly in a council estate in London. He’s got the Cockney accent but, since his parents were/are 2nd generation German, he knows that, too, and can do a convincing accent.
> 
> ‘Arthur’ = Ludwig. Unrelated to Gilbert.
> 
> I’m sure you can guess who Lancelot is. ;)
> 
> For prompt: “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

Despite the fact that Matthew had already confirmed that the man was kosher before letting him into the shop, the Canadian scrutinised the deliveryman. Somehow, Gilbert Beilschmidt was easily holding a crate with six tins of paint inside and didn't even seem to be struggling. Matthew's eyes swept across the muscles which bulged from under his mucky t-shirt, his pale skin making it all the more evident. Though he obviously exercised or was used to these sorts of deliveries, he was still rather thin. Or he was wearing his jeans low on his hips as Lancelot was wont to do when he had to go undercover. If he had to watch Bedivere staring at his ass one more time...

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Not to hurry you or nuffink, but where d'ye want this? It's kinda heavy, you get me?”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he gave Gilbert an apologetic smile. “Terribly sorry,” he said, making sure all traces of his Canadian accent was long gone. “I was visualising how the shop will look once we're done and got a bit carried away.”

In actuality, the paint was for HQ – they were about to begin auditioning for a new Knight since Tristan had fallen a week ago.

Matthew blamed himself for that tragedy.

Arthur (not to be confused with Arthur Kirkland who was Bedivere) had decided that having the paint delivered to the same place as the recruits was too risky. The shop was the only other place they had in England where a delivery of paint wouldn't be too suspicious. Though, the way that Gilbert was gazing around unfamiliar territory was making Matthew feel a little edgy. He was thankful he had put on a watch before he came out of fitting room two.

Speaking of which...

Gesturing towards the back of the shop, Matthew said, “If you could just place them in fitting room two.”

“The paint's supposed to go _where_?” Gilbert asked, incredulous.

“It's a temporary arrangement,” Matthew assured him. “If you'll follow me.”

Doing as he was told, Gilbert followed him to the small room. Gilbert bent to put down the crate and Matthew got a lovely view of his posterior. Trying not to turn red, Matthew averted his eyes just as Gilbert straightened and turned around.

“So. You's, like, a tailor or summat?” he asked.

“Indeed. We make bespoke suits. Are you asking out of interest...?” Matthew tried not to think about the man in a suit.

He failed utterly.

“Nah, bruv. I'm fine.” Gilbert gave him a grin. “That would be too much awesome for everyone else to handle.”

Matthew genuinely didn't know how to respond to that. “Well. Thank you for your time, sir.”

“You don't needta call me 'sir'. Not here, anyways.” A wink was thrown in Matthew's direction as Gilbert sauntered past. Matthew was quite frozen, unable to breathe, for more time than was prudent. He had to hurry to catch the beguiling man at the door.

“Do come again,” he said without thinking.

Gilbert turned to him and grinned widely. “Oh, I will.” Then, with one last wink, he turned and left, heading to the nondescript white van he had parked on the pavement.

Once he had watched him go and the flush had lessened somewhat, Matthew turned around to head further into the shop. He paused to ask Feliciano and Lovino to move the paint into the capsule before heading up to the Round Table.

Inside the long room, Arthur Kirkland was waiting for him, his glasses on and a teasing grin on his face. His greeting turned out to be a jibe: “And you say I stare at Lancelot's arse too much.”

“Oh, shut up,” sighed Matthew, rolling his eyes. “And I've told you a thousand times” - he grabbed the iPad from the Knight - “stop playing around with my stuff.”

“I'm not sure I can oblige with that, dear,” Arthur murmured, his smug smile growing. “I intended to do a background check on Mister Beilschmidt but I found the file you have on him. My, my. That was quite the story. Black belt in most major martial arts. Good in a brawl. Can drink a lot without getting too smashed. Can speak German and a little French and Spanish thanks to his friends. Good with cars...”

It took him a while but, eventually, Matthew realised what he was getting at. “Arthur. No.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” asked Arthur, blinking innocently at him. Others may have believed the cutesy act but Matthew had watched it work too many times to let it affect him.

“You know what. You can't just drag someone in off the street.”

“Why not?” Arthur demanded, raising an eyebrow.

“Arthur would never allow it.”

“I'm sure he would if we made a convincing argument. And I'm willing to bet a large sum that that young man will become the next Tristan.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes at him. “How much?”


End file.
